


mera yaar

by HackedByAWriter



Series: TLILAL [1]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Religion, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HackedByAWriter/pseuds/HackedByAWriter
Summary: Kartik and Aman are going to meet their adopted daughter for the first time, however Aman decides to take a small detour.TW: This focuses a lot on religion if that's not ur cup of tea, all good, please don't leave hate.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: TLILAL [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100660
Comments: 14
Kudos: 8





	mera yaar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saba aka Sabz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Saba+aka+Sabz).



> For my beautiful and wonderful pen-pal turned good friend Saba.
> 
> Happy Belated Birthday you beautiful human. This is part 2 of your present. (I'm sorry it took so long) I wrote this based off our countless conversations on this particular subject, for our shared appreciation for Bhaag Milkha Bhaag, and your continued love and support for TLILAL. I hope you like it. It has not exactly turned out as I imagined but it is the best I can do, I hope that it can aid in your journey of peace. I know it is a difficult one, but I also know you are strong and can get through this with the immense courage you possess.
> 
> I love you and I hope you never forget what an amazing human you are. Your words and emails remain very close to my heart (and its been almost a year can you imagine?). And yes I based a character off of you here.
> 
> Thank you for being a part of my life
> 
> \- Sargun

_Mera yaar hai Rab varga_

_Dildar hai Rab varga_

It was a strange thing, to walk familiar roads knowing that you were on the cusp of change. Aman had walked these roads a million times. But today was different. For one he was driving his father’s car instead of his bike. He and Kartik were going to take an Ola (seeing as they couldn’t exactly carry a baby on a motorbike) but Shankar Tripathi had practically insisted that they take his car. Aman had not objected, just as long Kartik was not allowed to drive.

And the roads looked so strange, knowing that when returned he would be father, knowing they will remain unchanged, the same old buildings, the same old gravel, while every cell in his body will be rearranged for the new being who was about to enter their lives.

After a year of talking about it and researching it, they had finally decided to adopt a girl. The two of them had even come up with a name for the baby. It was a name that hearkened to the beautiful folklore that had inspired their own story. A part of Aman terrified of the prospect of raising a child of repeating the same mistakes as their parents, but this was something Kartik had wanted for a long time, something that they both wanted. And he would be damned if he didn’t try his best by their daughter.

He turned to the side to look at Kartik and noted the other man’s nervousness. It was not the all consuming nervousness that would come in Kartik’s less glorious moments, the one that threatened to shatter his whole being. No it was the nervousness that gave way to exhilaration and new possibilities. The welcome kind and Aman would be lying if he said that he did not at least feel the same. They were embarking on this journey of parenthood together; it was only natural.

Aman took in a deep breath. There was something he had to do. He turned a corner.

“Galat raste mein aageye.” said Kartik with a half smile. 

“Galat rasta nahin,” said Aman resolutely. “We’re going to the gurdwara.”

_Main mandir kyun jawaan_

_Mera yaar khuda hai_

Kartik had given a start at Aman’s declaration. 

The gurdwara?

Sure he had grown up Sikh, and he had told Aman as much. But he had not been to a gurdwara in years. Kartik was not particularly religious. Hell he had cut his hair and had a Hindu God tattooed on his arm (something his grandmother would have thoroughly disapproved of if she were still alive) but that did not mean he had given up on his roots entirely.

Every morning he would try without fail to recite the Jap ji Sahib, every evening the Rehras Sahib and every night before he slept the Kirtan Sohila. Just as his mother had taught him to before she had died. 

Though he appreciated Aman’s consideration, even though every time he went to gurdwara he felt a sense of peace and calm. He was still scared. He still remembered the little boy who sat at their local Gurdwara at their village in Hoshiarpur everyday, hands joined, begging God to take it away. 

_If it is a sin to love another boy the way I do. Take it away from me._

He could still remember his words, his indignation and anger when God did not heed his prayers. When God did not stop his father’s beatings. When God did not take away this thing in him that he had once thought to be monstrous.

He had cursed his creator in his very darbar and had left. 

A sacrilege he knew.

He had not gone to Gurdwara since though he had still kept up his prayers. He had placed himself in exile from the so called palace of God, his worship being a distant one. He had for a long time felt himself to be too ignorant to enter a place so sacred, too much of a sinner. 

The realisation however had come slowly. 

If God had not taken it away from him surely it was not a sin. And he felt guilty for ever doubting it.

And though he knew that God was supposed to be everywhere, showing up to the Gurdwara, His darbar felt like a man showing up to a King’s palace after he had insulted him. Though he knew he would be forgiven, there was still a certain shame associated with going back, admitting one’s own faults. Besides, his self imposed exile had become comfortable.

“Pooja paath toh kar liya,” he said, remembering how the Tripathi’s had blessed them before they went. It had been an unconventional ceremony but it had been a ceremony nonetheless. “Nitnem savere kiya. Why the gurdwara?”  
  
“You know why,” said Aman calmly. “I want to honour both our religions properly before we embark on this journey.” he smiled and added shyly. “And I’ve never actually been to Gurdwara.”

Kartik smiled. He had never told Aman about his personal feelings about gurdwaras but if Sikhism taught anything it was that forgiveness was possible. And perhaps this was a step in the right direction, a sign that he could not go into his new life without letting go of this shadow, without taking himself out of his self imposed exile.

Before he could answer however the car stopped abruptly. Aman cursed. 

Shankar’s 1970 Ford Falcon had broken down. 

_Main masjid kyun jawaan_

_Mera yaar khuda hai_

“Fuck.” Aman whispered under his breath. “We should have taken an Ola.”

“We could take an Ola now?” suggested Kartik.

“And leave Papa’s car here?”  
  
Kartik shrugged. As much as Aman wanted to agree with him (and of course he liked Ola’s, their first kiss had been in one afterall) it would be no good returning home _with_ a baby and _without_ the Falcon. He could only hope that the arrival of a granddaughter would balance the pain in Shankar for them having to abandon the Falcon.

“Fuck this,” Aman continued curisng. “We’re going to be late.”

“Call someone?” Kartik suggested. “Just call and Ola we can come back for the car later.”

Aman took out his phone to heed Kartik’s suggestion, only to find that the reception was impossibly low. He threw his phone down in frustration. At that very moment Kartik, who had been watching the whole time, opened the door of the car abruptly.

“Kya hua?” Aman asked. “I’m sorry for the phone there’s no signal I was frustrated-”

“We need to get the car off the road first,” said Kartik. “Could you put it on neutral or something?”

It was a manual car meaning that it was risky, but they managed it in the end. With that task accomplished. Aman tried once again to contact an Ola, with no success. 

Seeing Aman’s frustration, Kartik furrowed his brows. His eyes flickered to the car, then suddenly there was a glint in them, as bright as the Evenstar. Aman knew that look, it was one of either pure genius or downright dumbassery.

“Get on the roof,” said Kartik simply.

“What the fuck?”

“The roof of the car,” Kartik explained. “You might get a signal from there.” noting Aman’s hesitation he added. “I’ll come up with you if you’re feeling shy.”

Aman did not want to admit to it, but he did have scruples about getting up on top of a roof of this particular car. It was one thing to shout about homophobia on the terrace of their family home and another to clamber on top of his father’s prize 1970s Ford Falcon. He was about to protest but Kartik beat him to it, rushing to the top of the car

He turned to Aman.

“Bhangra paon da ji karda,” he announced in Punjabi, breaking out in a few not so discreet moves, humming some upbeat tune from Gurdas Mann. 

In truth he looked ridiculous, like a fool, in his jeans and favourite white shirt, on top of the Falcon in the middle of the road. But he was Aman’s fool through and through.

Aman felt himself smile as Kartik met his eyes. It was moments like these where he felt like life was worth living.

_Mere pairon mein bhangra_

_Sanson mein tappe-tappe_

_Main ishq tarne gaaoon chappe chappe_

Kartik never made it a secret that he loved to see Aman smile. But, there was something in this moment that made it all the more beautiful, with his pleasure shining through his mock annoyance. He felt a surge of warmth knowing that in a matter of seconds he was able to transform Aman’s despondent and anxious mood into something far lighter.

He held out his hand. 

“Do you trust me?”  
  
“Only if you stop quoting Aladdin,” Aman said, but he took Kartik’s hand and allowed himself to be lifted up to the roof of the car anyway. 

_Wo noor ka jharna hai_

_Main pyaas purani.._

_Maine aankh se gatakh liya_

_Us husn ka paani_

Aman tried everything he could to get a signal, he even allowed Kartik to hoist him a little higher in the air. Despite this all their efforts proved thoroughly useless, leaving Aman on the final shred of his sanity.

He was just about to suggest they walk all the way to the Gurdwara and ask someone to give them a ride from there when he noticed another vehicle approaching them. Aman squinted trying to make it out. 

As the vehicle came up Aman realised it was a motorbike not unlike his own. The person on the bike was a woman, perhaps a little older than them. Her hair was cropped short under her helmet, she had beautiful eyes that Aman could not tell the colour of. 

“You guys alright up there?” she asked, stopping by.

“We were just practising our bhangra,” Kartik supplied.

“Our car broke down,” Aman interrupted before Kartik could scare her off with his overabundance of glee. “We were trying to find a signal.”

“You’re just in luck,” she smiled parking her bike. “I happened to know a thing or two about cars.”

Here Aman noticed the heavy boxes. Mechanic tools he realised. She started to take them. As she went over to the bonnet of the car she decided to make some small talk. They slid off the roof.

“Where are you going?”

“Gurdwara,” Aman said. “We’re-”

“We’re adopting a baby girl,” said Kartik. “We wanted to pray before we went.”

The woman smiled “I believe congratulations are in order for you both and…”

“Sahiba,” said Aman. “That’s her name. I’m Aman and this is Kartik.”

“Sahiba,” she grinned. “Sounds an awful lot like my name.”

“What is your name?” Kartik questioned.

“Sabaha.” she answered. “And I swear I will get you to your little Sahiba, Kartik and Aman. Inshallah. I wish you all a long and happy life together.”

_Use takte takte takte umar guzaroon_

_Koi aur khayaal jo aaye jhat se utaroon_

The woman’s name was Sabaha. Though she worked as a mechanic part time, in truth she was a student of psychology and a lover of history, as well as an aspiring artist. As they spoke Kartik found he liked her. She was sweet natured, with a quick wit and wonderful sense of humour. 

She had explained what was wrong with their car, though Kartik could not make sense of it. As long as it was fixable with all the equipment she had, that was all he cared about.

“When little Sahiba comes home will you be taking her to the Gurdwara again?” she said, bent over the open hood of the car.

Kartik paused at this, unsure how to answer her. It had been hard enough preparing himself to go there today after such a long time. And besides, he would not know the first thing about what to do when presenting a baby there. 

“Well we have a thing when she comes home,” said Aman. “It’s not a Sikh thing though...I’m not Sikh.” he clarified he turned to Kartik. “Sorry, I never really asked you whether you wanted-”

“I wouldn’t know anything about it Aman, even if I wanted to. I’m not particularly religious, you know that.” 

It was a hard thing to admit. He knew it was not a mark of shame, he knew that immense knowledge in one’s religion did not necessarily measure one’s goodness. But he could not help but feel a sense of incompetency. As if he _should_ know something, at least enough to give their daughter something to go off of.

Sabaha seemed to notice the roiling emotions she stopped tinkering with the engine (or at least what Kartik thought was the engine) and met their eyes.

“Is it because of the whole…” she paused seemingly catching herself.

“Kinda because of the whole gay thing,” he admitted catching on to her meaning. “Though not really. I’m not sure. It’s complicated.”

“Sorry I shouldn’t really be prying,” she said 

“No it's okay,” said Kartik. “We can talk about it. I’m probably not able to answer things as well as you might expect is all.”

“I don’t know as much about Islam as I probably should wither,” she admitted shrugging going back to her work. “But I don’t think that stops me from considering myself to be a good person or a good Muslim even. I think being who you are should not have to be sacrificed for some arbitrary rituals.”

He knew people who prided themselves on how much they prayed, how long their hair had grown. And to hear this. It was rather comforting to hear something like that be said by someone else.

“So you don’t think that knowing the ins and out of the Bhagvad-Geeta doesn’t necessarily make you a good person?”

Kartik had been so focused on his own struggles with religion that he never considered Aman’s own. He wondered then whether Aman too had grown with the restless and the silent brand of a sinner that he had kept close to his heart.  
  
Sabaha gave them a pained smiled “I think its important to remember that there are many out there who look like saints but act like sinners and just as many who look like sinners and act like saints. Religion should be a relationship between you and God and sometimes practices and institutionalizing religion muddies that relationship.”

She looked up at them closing the bonnet of the car “You’re good people. And if anyone deserves to be given the moniker of a saint, it would be you two.”

“Why would you say that?” Kartik asked, surprised.

All his life he had been deemed a sinner, an abomination. To be told that his sins were not stains of dishonour but rather marks of virtue...it was almost as if he had realised that he had been forced to look at the world, at himself from the wrong vantage point, all his life.

“Because you love,” she said simply. “You love each other enough to give a portion of that love to a child. Your daughter.”

“Love?” Aman repeated.

“You see the core of every religion is love. In the base and driving force of everything, just think what a cold bleak world this would be without love.” she said it with certainty. “Jesus was martyred for the love he bore for mankind, they called his sacrifice a passion. The Prophet Mohammad Peace be Upon Him lived the ideal of love through his life, never gave it up through countless struggles. Guru Nanak Dev ji walked the ends of the earth, step by step, to spread love, break the strictures we put upon ourselves. Love for his people was what drove Moses to go against his brother the King of Egypt and part the Red Sea.” she looked at Kartik’s tattoo. “Across all lifetimes and forms, Man and Nature, Shiv and his Shakti remain together, return to one another their union an example of faith and unconditional love.”

Kartik considered her words silently. No one, not even his mother, had told him of religion like this. And while this was something he should have known, hearing it said like this made him realise how truly foolish they were as humans to try and measure their worth and devotion. Society was foolish to build rules and strictures on their love, when in truth it was a divine thing.

He had been searching for answers, complicating the matter for himself, muddying with ritual and rules, when those had never mattered.  
  
“What does it matter how one’s love comes into being?” continued Sabaha. “Whether it is between family, whether it is between lovers. I cannot imagine any God to be so cruel as to condemn something he has preached as sacred since the dawn of time.”

_Ishq karun ya karun ibadat_

_Ishq karun ya karun ibadat_

_Ikko hi gal ae_

_Alfu Allah,_

_Alfu Allah,_

_Alfu Allah hu_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> While this focuses much on Sikhi, with hints to Islam and Hinduism I hope this provides some sense of comfort to those kids who are still struggling to reconcile religion with their gender or sexuality. I have tried my best to handle this topic in a sensitive manner but if you feel as if I have overstepped please do not hesitate to let me know.


End file.
